"I thought the fifth time would never come… yet look… you've still summoned it. And now, it stands right at your door."
The yokai's voice was a razor—half teasing, half deadly serious—cutting through the air like silk.
His hand rose effortlessly; the sword he had thrown returned to him as if obeying a silent command. The hood of his cloak billowed violently in the wind, and a few loose strands of hair floated around his half-hidden face like wisps of smoke.
The blade had severed the creature's arm, which fell to the ground, writhing like an octopus. Yet even in dismemberment, it twitched and tricked on its own. A lock of Lànhuā's white hair fell free, and she gasped, her eyes wide—their soft blue now sharpened with irritation. Irritation at him, at herself, at the creature that had ruined the moment.
"S-Shut up! I… I didn't do anything! They came because we were here… in their territory!" she barked, jumping back, clutching her talisman and sword tightly. Her heart raced.
Close. First, the sword had almost ended her, and now—by yelling—she'd drawn danger to herself. She should have heeded his warning.
"But… what was that?! I've never seen… anything like it!" she spat through clenched teeth. Her voice carried anger, guilt, and humiliation—a tangle of emotions: anger at herself, guilt for surviving, shame for always walking back into the fate she could never escape.
She stepped back, her movement smooth and silent, like the wind that had once carried her father. His hand gripped hers—the one holding the burning talisman—and her hair brushed lightly against his lips. A spark of warmth fluttered in her chest.
Her stomach twisted painfully, bone and muscle tight with nerves. This was the first time they had been so close. Her eyes flicked up to his, trying to confirm his presence, and then around them, alert.
"How could you witness this… when even I, a yokai who comes here twice a year, have never seen it?" he said, his tone sharp, alert.
Lànhuā blinked, disbelief warring with awe. Even he… a seasoned yokai, had never encountered such a being.
"You… don't?" she whispered again.
He turned, answering slowly, cautiously. The creature hurled a spider-web spun from its nails. He reacted instantly, pushing her out of its path, leaping and cleaving the nails in half—each snapping like strands of hair under the sword's edge.
"No… and it sounds like… a female," he muttered, remembering the hand that had fallen into the lake, the soft, strange voice that accompanied it. "I've never seen a female spacial grade… I didn't even know they existed."
Typically, female spacial grades appeared only in rare 3rd-class colonies—a slight step above normal yokais. Some Heram-type females had multiple partners, though none ever reached first-class rank....
But this one…it didn't had the charming features as the 3rd class colony type.. this one was unlike any he had seen. Black as shadow, with a hunger that crawled across body and mind alike, a predator whose presence whispered like a crawling insect...
Suddenly, it lunged from nowhere, its cold, sharp hand clamping onto Lànhuā's arm. She gasped in pain, struggling with the burning talisman, her sleeve tearing from the force.
"Aha! Get off!" she cried.
"Their sharp targets are usually humans… and that one.. is here for you," he said, jaw tight, tone edged with warning.
The yokai shrieked again, mouth stretching impossibly wide, eyes blazing red, sharp teeth gleaming. Curly black hair spilled over a robe that barely covered its chest. Its gaze fixed on Lànhuā with something more than anger—hunger, desire—a dangerous, suffocating mix.
Even now, Lànhuā refused to show weakness.
"I'm not some fragile woman needing protection… that's just a scratch. I am the 2nd grandmaster of méi Róu clan ! " Her words rang firm, though blood ran down her pale skin, staining the ground, scenting the air faintly—enough to drive the yokai's frenzy higher.
He let out a faint, humorless chuckle, releasing her. "Yeah… sure. Why not? But only 20 years old girl "
" d..don't you dare to call me tiny ! " she yelled , refused to look small even if she is . Even she doesn't knows how he gets such a pride when it's not xio or his father
The guy sighed and continued "After all, they are real demons—they're histories and arts to learn to cultivators..you're not the real demons… besides, did you know your arm would bleed tonight, coming here… following me?"
She cleared her throat, realizing his words carried truth. Her gaze swept the shadows, but nothing answered. True demons could mask, conceal, or destroy at will. Demonic cultivators could only perceive what was exposed to them. They could not know until it was revealed. Lànhuā could not prepare herself for what was coming.
"If you understand… stay silent. Do not show courage unless you know who you underestimate," he murmured. And she, powerless against the unknown, could only obey.
The creature retreated, leaving its severed arm where he stepped, twisting his heel and sending it splashing into the lake. The atmosphere thickened, laden with gravity—the kind that whispered of death—as nearby spacial-grade yokais hissed, disturbed by the intrusion, ready to erupt if Lànhuā was noticed.
Glass-like cracking laughter echoed from the woods, shadows flitting between trees. But it was clear—the creature had regenerated its lost hand. Both hands were whole again, as if nothing had happened.
He scrutinized the shadowy figure—a surviving female spacial grade, perhaps. Its laughter, its relentless attacks… they were tinged with desire, an almost obsessive focus aimed solely at Lànhuā. Unlike typical spacial rituals, it did not manipulate, did not coerce—it simply sought her, unashamed, unrelenting.
Even as he pressed Lànhuā close, the creature lingered at the edges of the clearing, half-shrouded in shadow. It didn't attack immediately—it watched. Every slight movement, every quiver of her fingers, every shift in her stance drew it closer in fascination. Its hunger was obvious, but there was something else—curiosity, almost like it was studying her, marking her in a way that unsettled him even more.
He could feel the pull of its attention, like a thread tugging at the air around them. Its gaze lingered longer than necessary, tracing the curve of her arm, the tilt of her head, the faint rise and fall of her chest. It was invasive, unsettling, yet spoke of a rarity, a hunger unlike any he'd ever faced.
Lànhuā stiffened instinctively, but even in fear, she noticed it—the way its movements mirrored her own, how it seemed drawn to her in a silent, predatory dance. She felt the weight of its attention, heavy and inescapable, and a shiver ran down her spine.
He pressed a hand lightly against her back, a grounding presence. "Do not let it notice weakness. Stand still. Breathe. Move only when I say." His voice was calm, but his jaw was tight. He could sense the creature's fascination growing, its hunger sharpened by her defiance and courage.
It was dangerous. Terrifying. And yet, in the shadowed glade, under the watchful eyes of a yokai that hungered for her, there was a strange, electric tension—the kind that made the hair on the back of one's neck stand, made the heart race, stretched every second thin and taut.
The female yokai's attention was not idle. It was drawn, relentless, a presence that threatened to wrap around Lànhuā like smoke. And he knew, in that silent exchange, that the danger—and the curiosity—was far from over.
"That thing… desires you. For itself… and to ruin you. Do not move from behind me. I will keep you safe… to taste.. the fate," he murmured, voice low, steady, but carrying an edge of warning that lingered like the shadowed chill between them.